Rockstar Book Tours presents... GREETING CARDS FOR EXES by Rebekah L. Purdy - COVER REVEAL + GIVEAWAY!

Today Rebekah L. Purdy, Rowan Prose Publishing, and Rockstar Book Tours are revealing the cover for GREETING CARDS FOR EXES, her new women’s fiction book which releases February 4, 2025! So, get ready to mark your calendar, check out the awesome cover and, enter the giveaway!

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On to the reveal! 

Title: GREETING CARDS FOR EXES

Author: Rebekah L. Purdy

Pub. Date: February 4, 2025

Publisher: Rowan Prose Publishing

Formats: Paperback, eBook

Find it: Goodreads, https://books2read.com/u/bQlRpD

 

Piper Mishner has spent the last year trying to get over her ex, which is hard to do after he decides to move into the apartment next to hers with his new fiancé. As if she needs the reminder of how painful the breakup was. Not to mention, her job as a greeting card writer is now at risk due to her cynicism about love.

 
“I’m bored with you and need a change.” The infamous words of Kerrie Holloway’s ex-husband, who doesn’t seem to understand the concept of being an “ex” since he wants her to pretend for their kids and family that they’re still together. While dating others and living in the same house. She gets a job in sales at a greeting card company, and is finally on the way to saving for her own place.

 
Maude Gilchrist has spent over fifty years married to the same man. A man who, one day, just leaves. No goodbye. No explanation. He was just gone. Bitter and alone, she decides to postpone retirement from the greeting card company. Although writing sappy cards about love is the last thing she wants to do.

Through lunch hour talks, weekend getaways, and drunken brawls, the ladies of All For You Greeting Cards Company help heal one another’s wounds and learn there are more important things in life than having a man. There may be a generational gap, but they all have the “ex-factor” in common. Everyone needs a friend by their side. Someone to talk to, laugh with, complain to, watch your back…and to go to jail with you. 

 

Fans of Ashley Poston, Colleen Hoover, Emily Henry, Christina Lauren, Mia Sheridan, and Kristin Hannah will enjoy "Greeting Cards For Exes" by Rebekah L. Purdy.

 

Excerpt:

Chapter One

PIPER

 

The familiar whir of Chicago traffic sounded from below as I sat on my balcony, sipping a cup of coffee, and watching the waves roll in off Lake Michigan. I could barely afford this apartment, but it was worth every penny, just to feel this relaxed. It was my one refuge from the world—from my bad memories of Minho dumping me. Although, I guess dumping would’ve entailed actually talking to me about ending our engagement.

But I found out the hard way. Even now I couldn’t get rid of the image of Hani’s legs wrapped around him in OUR car, in the alleyway next to the floral shop. There was nothing more final than seeing Minho or as I liked to refer to him now, Man-Ho, screwing someone else to bring things to an end…Although maybe he had some weird Valentine’s fetish. First, he was with me, a greeting card writer, who came up with sweet words that people couldn’t come up with themselves, and then a florist who pretty much vomited roses, love, and all things Cupid would go crazy for.

With a groan, I shook my head clearing those visions from my mind. I was not going to spend one more second thinking of that asshat. My lids closed, and when I reopened them, I turned my focus back on the shoreline across the street. Scents of the lake and nearby restaurants wafted in the air, and I inhaled deeply, stretching my legs in front of me. Nope. I’d specifically chosen this location because it was nowhere near our old neighborhood. So, I didn’t have to go to the same eateries, or shops, or see the same mutual friends. This was my safe zone.

I set my cup on the glass tabletop. Nothing could ruin this day for me. Nothing. Not even my upcoming meeting at work, which I still needed to come up with two new Valentine’s Day greeting card ideas. These days it was harder to write about forever love. But if I wanted to keep my job, I had to do it. Besides even I could BS my way through some sappy thing or another.

Not that I absolutely needed this job because my mom’s third husband, and my favorite stepdad of the six I’d had, David, had set up a nice trust fund for me. However, I liked to earn my own way. Not that I didn’t appreciate or spend the money he gave me, it was one of the reasons I could afford this place.

“Hey honey, do you want to have breakfast out on the balcony today? It’s nice out.” A familiar voice came from the open door of the apartment next to mine.

No. No freaking way. This was not happening. Maybe I’d just imagined it since I was thinking of him.

A moment later, I watched in horror as Minho stepped onto the neighboring balcony holding a bowl of rice, with eggs on top. Nope. Didn’t imagine it.

Oh God, I couldn’t let him see me like this. I smoothed down my old nightgown, which had cartoon cats holding coffee cups between their paws on it. Crap. What should I do? Without a second thought, I dropped to my knees, then down into a full-blown military crawl, my belly rubbing against the floor, as I used my elbows to propel myself forward across the deck toward my French doors. The only thing worse than a domestic enemy, was an asshole ex.

Why? Why? Why? Did God hate me? I mean seriously, what were the damn odds of my ex moving into the apartment next to mine, with his new fiancé?

“Piper? Is that you?” Minho called.

Damn it. I lowered my head and pretended not to hear him, while I half-crawled, half-inch-wormed back toward the door. However, as I reached for the handle, still lying on my stomach, the stupid door wouldn’t budge. You’ve got to be shitting me. Raising my arm, to shield my face, I pushed harder, until at last it slid open, sending me flying inside.

Maybe he’d think it wasn’t me. Maybe he’d believe he just had some weird neighbor lady who liked to slither around on the floor of her deck. And she just happened to look a lot like me.

Sure. He’d definitely believe that.

Who was I kidding? Of course, he’d know it was me, his parents picked these stupid pajamas out for me two Christmases ago. Why didn’t I burn them with the rest of the stuff he and the rest of the Song family gave me? And why in hell, did I wear my damn cat pajamas today of all days? I could’ve easily opted for the sexy black lace shorts and matching tank. How would he ever regret breaking up with me, when I wore childish clothes and didn’t brush my hair before I decided to have coffee? I collapsed on my gray hardwood floor, out of breath from playing leapfrog, and leaned my cheek against wood. Yeah, probably not the most sanitary idea I’d had. Just my luck, I’d breakout in acne or have a dust bunny lodge itself in my throat and kill me.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Death by dust bunny. That sounded nice. Perhaps this was a nightmare. Any moment, I’d wake up and everything would be fine. No ex next door, no shattering of my peaceful world.

The doorbell echoed through my apartment. Frantic, I pulled myself up by the arm of the black leather couch. No. He wouldn’t do this to me, would he? Actually, ring my doorbell?

Anyone else would’ve had to have buzzed from the main lobby to be allowed up. Shaking, I moved toward the door and stared through the peephole.

Sure enough, Minho stood there in his gray suit pants, white dress shirt and matching gray tie, still looking hot as ever. His dark hair had recently been cut and was styled perfectly as always. His almond shaped eyes stared intently at the door. He reached for the doorbell again, as if his persistence would make me open it. Damn, why couldn’t he have gotten ugly in the past year? Like couldn’t God have made him lose all his hair and teeth or given him man boobs or something?

Stepping away from the door, I scurried back to my room. I wasn’t ready to face him today. So instead, I hopped in the shower, hoping that when it was time to leave for work, he’d be gone.

After the world’s longest shower and enough steam in my bathroom to power a train engine, I finally got dressed, packed my lunch, grabbed my work bag, and headed for the door.

Taking a deep breath, I poked my head out, surveying the area for Minho. When I determined he wasn’t in sight, I locked my apartment then headed down the hall to the elevator at the end.

The bell dinged as the elevator reached my floor, doors opening to an empty car. Phew, at least I wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. Then I glanced up to see Minho, holding a briefcase and hurrying down the hall.

“Piper. Hey, I thought that was you, can you hold the door?” he said loudly.

I stared at him a brief moment, my pulse raging in my ears like a too loud rock song at a concert. The doors started to shut. Maybe I could’ve caught them in time, but I didn’t even try.

“Sorry,” I called out.

Then they closed, I let out a shaky breath. I wasn’t ready for this yet. I didn’t want to see him or talk to him or be around him. However, I also wasn’t going to be the one to move. This was supposed to be my safe haven. My dream home. If he didn’t like that we were neighbors, he could move. Or at least that’s what I told myself.

When I got to the complex lobby, I rushed for the front door, waving to Felix, the doorman as I passed.

In an attempt to avoid Minho at all costs, I sprinted down the sidewalk. Damn, I better not break an ankle. Heels did not mix with track and field events. But it was desperation that kept me going, even though my lungs and legs were telling me I was in no shape to be running a marathon this morning.

“Hey, Piper,” someone called.

I kept moving. There’d be no stopping until I got to All For You Greeting Cards.

“Piper, wait up. Is someone chasing you?”

My gaze shifted to find the marketing director from work, Wooyoung riding up beside me, on his bike. His work bag was strapped around his shoulder and chest.

I swallowed hard staring at him. His dark hair was styled back off his face, his brown eyes, nearly hidden behind a pair of black nerdy glasses. His navy-blue suit clung to what I assumed was a well-defined body, since all the girls in the office claimed he worked out all the time. Not that I was totally oblivious to how adorable he was, but he just hadn’t really registered on my radar. I mean, sure he brought me a coffee every day, but he did that for pretty much everyone. It wasn’t like I was special or anything.

“Oh, hi,” I managed to say, as I slowed down and tried to catch my breath. “No. Um—just trying to get in some exercise before work.”

He quirked an eyebrow at me, bringing his bike to a stop. “In heels?”

My cheeks warmed, and I swiped my red hair out of my face and behind my ear. A nervous gesture. “Yeah, you should try it some time. Really builds those leg muscles.”

His lips twitched at the corner. “Yeah, I think I’ll pass. Heels aren’t really my thing.”

From behind me, I heard Minho again. Crap. Couldn’t he take a hint? Taking a deep breath, I jumped onto the pegs on the back of Wooyoung’s bike. “Go. Go. Go,” I said, tapping his back.

Wooyoung peered at me, but then started peddling. Falling forward, I clasped onto his waist, praying I didn’t fall off the back, or get a heel caught in the spokes or something. He sped down the side of the street, me hanging on for dear life.

After a couple of blocks, he pulled up in front of a coffee shop and parked his bike, while I hopped off.

“What was that about?” His gaze met mine.

“My ex—kind of long story…I’m just not ready to face him.”

He nodded. “Okay. Well, I’m pretty sure we lost him. Are you fine with me making a coffee stop?”

“Yeah. No problem, it’s not like you’re my taxi driver or something,” I said, following him into the small café. The scent of coffee and baked goods enveloped me. Damn, I could really use a Long John donut. But the question was, did I “need” it? Probably not.

Wooyoung went up to the counter and the barista smiled at him. Her eyes lit up as she glanced between us. “Oh my gosh, is this caramel, mocha, latte girl?”

Wooyoung chuckled, his face pinkening. “Yes.”

Her smile widened. “I get it now. Good choice.” She winked at him.

My gaze shifted between them. What in the heck were they talking about?

The barista set two cups on the counter and took Wooyoung’s money from him, he then held out one of the cups to me. “Your favorite, caramel, mocha latte.”

“Thanks. How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing.” He fell in beside me as we made our way outside to the sidewalk again.

“Seriously, you get me one every day. It’s got to get expensive.”

He grinned. “Not a big deal, besides, if it makes you smile then that’s all the payment I need.”

I nearly choked on my drink. “Is that a line or something?”

His face turned red, and he ran a hand haphazardly through his hair. “No, I um…Hey, I’ll see you at work, okay? Good luck with the rest of your jog.”

He hopped on his bike and raced off ahead of me like someone had lit his butt cheeks on fire. What had gotten into him?

When I arrived at the office, Kerrie Holloway, one of our newest sales reps waved at me from next to the potted baby rose bush in the lobby. Yes, the company owner’s Valentine’s Day obsession knew no bounds. Kerrie adjusted her black skirt and smoothed down her light blue flower-patterned shirt, that bulked out from beneath her dark suit jacket. Her brown curly hair was pulled back in a ponytail, making her look younger. “Good, you’re here. Mr. Dancy’s ready to start our meeting.”

“Our meeting?” I squeaked. “Crap. I don’t have my cards done. I was gonna work on them this morning, and then Minho showed up. I swear, it’s like he can’t stop ruining my life.”

“Wait. Back up.” Kerrie grabbed my arm tugging me to a stop next to my office. “Minho stopped by?”

“It’s worse than that. I’m pretty sure he moved in next door.”

“And I thought my morning was bad—are you alright?”

Sucking in a deep breath, I glanced at her. “I’m not sure.”

“Ladies, let’s go, our meeting is about to start.” Mr. Dancy poked his head out of our conference room. His brown tweed jacket in need of a “this century” makeover.

This day was about to get even better, I was sure.

Shoving my office door open, I tossed my bag inside, grabbed a binder and pen from my desk and headed into the meeting.

I found a seat next to Kerrie and across from Wooyoung, who wouldn’t even meet my eye. Mr. Dancy cleared his throat, scouring the room and staring down the rest of my Valentine’s Day and Sweetest Day card team. Carlos glowered out the window, while Maude, the oldest living creature in the building took a sip of tea from her mug, leaving behind a too pink colored lipstick print. Her white hair reminded me of a cotton ball, while her horn-rimmed glasses perched on her nose like a librarian scowling at patrons.

“Nice that you could all finally join me. Our mandatory meetings are just that, mandatory. So, let’s get rolling with your ideas for next year’s Valentine’s Day Cards. Carlos, why don’t we start with your art and photos…”

Carlos stood, his normally sleek look marred by wrinkled trousers, the same red shirt he’d worn yesterday, and a face that appeared to have not been shaved recently.

“This is all I have.” Carlos lined up photos and drawings of flames. “I call it the ‘Love is Hell’ collection. For all those no-good bastards who dump their loved ones and move to Paris without them.”

“Amen to that,” I said, raising my coffee in toast.

“Yes, nothing says love like hellish flames,” Mr. Dancy snapped. “Piper?”

I snorted. “Well, if you loved Carlos’s art, then you’ll love my idea. How about something more Anti-Valentine’s, like ‘Drunk Butt-Dial cards.’ You can make it where the buyer can record their voice and tell their ex what they really think about them and send it out. Put a little phone on the front, so when it opens, you hear it dial, then ring, maybe even a scratch and sniff beer sticker or something to make it more realistic,” I said.

Kerrie busted out laughing, then quickly covered her mouth.

Mr. Dancy turned a shade of red I’d never seen before, something between the hellish flames Carlos had created and the color of an overripe tomato about to explode. “What the hell has gotten into you guys? This isn’t a joke. We need to have all our next seasons’ cards ready to go. Maude, please tell me you have something so I can leave this meeting feeling like at least one of our staff knows how to do their job and not put our company under.”

Maude smiled. “Of course.” She slid a small stack of papers over to him. “Here are a few of my ideas.”

Mr. Dancy collected the sheets and read through them. He smiled. “Yes. I love these. Flowers. Love. Forever. This—this is what you guys should be writing about and designing cards for.” He tossed them down in front of me. “Maybe read up on it. I’m calling this meeting to an end and warning you now, that you better come prepared next time.”

I stood ready to filter from the room with everyone else, but Mr. Dancy blocked my way.

“Not so fast Piper, sit.” He pointed at the chair I’d just vacated.

“Sir, look, I can explain everything…”

“Piper, listen. You are a very talented writer, it’s one of the reasons I originally hired you—I know you’ve had a really rough year, but you have to get back on top of things here, otherwise, I’m afraid, I might have to find someone else. Someone who doesn’t think the answer to Valentine’s Day is a beer scented sticker.”

I nodded. “I promise, I’ll have something to you soon.”

After he left, I stared out the window at the sky. You have to get it together girl. You can’t lose this job because Manho decided to break up with you…you can’t let him win and see how unhappy you are.

If I didn’t have motivation before to get over him. I sure did now. Cynical as I was, I’d find a way to create a love themed card, even if I had to spend the next seventy-two hours watching Rom/Com movies and eating a tub of chocolate ice cream.

 

About Rebekah L. Purdy:

Rebekah L. Purdy is an army veteran, born and raised in Michigan. She works full time for the court system and, in her free time, she writes YA stories across many genres, with more than 15 titles to date. She has a large family, including furbabies. "Greeting Cards for Exes" is her first women's fiction book.

 

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Giveaway Details:

1 winner will receive a $10 Amazon Gift Card, International.

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